Of Triumphs and Teacakes
by mementomorieris
Summary: 15-year old genius Sherlock Holmes has absolutely no interest in his not-so-secret admirer, Molly Hooper. When dared to ask her out, however, his pride forces him to accept the challenge. But is Molly really as petty and dull as she seems? (Teen!lock Sherlolly.)
1. Chapter 1

_So last night I couldn't sleep and this fanfic appeared in my head out of nowhere...hope you like it!_

_Reviews make me smile :) _

_Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, Sherlolly would be canon. (Oh and so would Mystrade, Molliarty, Mollstrade, Sheriarty and Adlock.)_

* * *

**Part I**

It all started when she saw The Boy at the train station.

(Well, The Boy and His Friend, but His Friend didn't matter to her then.)

He was stunning. He was handsome. He was dazzling. He was untouchable.

And he was _hers. _Well, in her imagination he was. In fact, in her imagination she had already been on four dates with him: the first out for dinner somewhere incredibly grown up, which had ended with a soft kiss to her cheek and a shy exchanging of numbers; the second they'd gone on a moonlit walk around London and she'd squealed with happiness and hugged him when he confessed that he was utterly completely in love with her; the third they'd gone to see a movie, an action film they'd both seen before and liked, and he'd kissed her at the back of the cinema as the credits started; and the fourth they'd gone to the park and climbed trees and watched the sun go down together. It was all very romantic.

(She was really an timid, slightly nerdy schoolgirl who was just about as capable of being romantic as she was of turning into a polka dotted pig... but she liked to think she'd grow out of her awkward tendencies as soon as they started dating.)

But to start all that in real life, of course, she needed to get The Boy to notice her. He looked around the same age as her, so she decided to change her appearance as to look more appealing. She started to put on mascara and eyeliner on the days she got the train with almost medical precision. She brushed her hair exactly one hundred times every morning. Not being allowed perfume of her own, she stole some from the box her father kept of her mother's old things and sprayed it on her neck and wrists liberally, conserving it so that it wouldn't run out. She wore her school skirt a few inches shorter than she was allowed to like all the popular girls.

Try as she might, none of this got her noticed.

She came to terms with the fact that she'd have to make the first move; which girls did not do often, but being a feminist, she decided that she would not sit pathetically and wait for The Boy to approach her. But she was far too shy to go up and address him. What would she say - "Hello, I have a massive crush on you, be my boyfriend!"? No - she was going to have to be subtle about this. She spent all of two hours when she was supposed to be doing French homework writing a note to him and, after dozens upon dozens of redrafts, it was done.

It was the 9th November when she decided to surreptitiously pass The Boy her letter. Being too scared to go up and physically hand it to him, she waited until they were on the train, and then sort of kicked it in his general direction.

He _noticed._

He frowned at it and picked it up, and then methodically unfolded it.

* * *

_Dear the boy with the dark brown curly hair who gets the train,_

_Hello._

_I am the girl with the light brown long brown hair and eyes who goes to Ashmere Girls'. I have been wanting to talk to you for ages but haven't had the courage before now, and I just wanted to ask your name? _

_Love from, Molly xxx_

_PS I wrote this when I was supposed to be doing French homework and I like French so could you please talk to me otherwise it will have been a bit of a waste of time.. _

She'd finally done it.

Sherlock Holmes looked down at the folded piece of paper in his hand. It was obvious that this Molly person found him attractive, but wasn't brave enough to write it down. And more importantly, she'd spent the last two months staring at him. Why did she find him attractive? It was mystifying.

"...can't believe she sent you a note!" John's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"Yes, John, she sent me a note. I have already established this fact. What would you suggest I do now?"

"Go and talk to her. Say hello. Tell her your name." John paused. "That's what a normal person would do, anyway."

"OK then. I will try to be... pleasant. But I have no wish for any sort of relationship with her whether friendly or romantic, is that clear?"

"Sherlock. You'll break her heart."

"Her fault for having one to break."

Sherlock turned his head and looked for Molly, then walked up to her confidently and cleared his throat. "Bonjour Molly, je m'appelle Sherlock. J'ai apprécié votre lettre, mais je n'engagerait pas plutôt dans n'importe quelle sorte de relation. Au revoir et meilleures voeux!"

"What? Sherlock, I don't -"

"Her note, John. It said she liked French. Do keep up."

He turned around to look at Molly one last time. It was like she had been crushed. Her eyes were watering, a tear already streaking down her face, and her hands were folded, though trembling.

"You absolute idiot. What on earth did you tell her?"

"That I appreciated her letter but I didn't want any sort of relationship, and then goodbye and best wishes."

John sighed. "Sherlock, you prat. Did she understand?"

"Going by her reaction, I'd say yes. She understood every word."

"Why, why are you so.."

"But I said best wishes! I said that I appreciated the letter! Those are nice things to say!" He glanced at Molly, who was wiping tears away fiercely and glaring at him. "I don't understand what I did wrong!"

"Everything. You told her you didn't want to know her, Sherlock, and by the sound of her note, she's been in love with you for months! Now go and apologize!"

"I am not apologising."

John shook his head in despair. "Then you know what? I will, if you're too childish to be able to say sorry." He walked over to Molly, who had stopped crying, but still looked distraught. "I am so sorry about him. It's in his nature to be so horrible and blunt like that." Molly nodded. Sherlock frowned - horrible and blunt? Realistic, more like.

"No, it's fine, um.." She looked at him and cocked her head to the side.

"John. John Watson."

"Molly Hooper." She smiled at him tentatively, and then did something completely unexpected.

She strode right up to Sherlock Holmes, chin firmly up in the air, and told him exactly what she thought of him.

"Vous savez quoi, Sherlock? Je ne m'inquiète pas. Et à l'avenir, je vais faire mes devoirs français plutôt flatteur sur piqûres pompeux comme vous. Au revoir, et meilleurs voeux à vous aussi!" She stormed off in the opposite direction.

Taken aback by Molly's rant (in French), Sherlock closed his eyes for a few seconds. He didn't expect her to react like that - he'd expected snivelling, and then total avoidance of both him and John as if they were the plague. He had underestimated her.

(This was the first of many times he was going to underestimate Molly Hooper.)

"..What did she say?"

"She called me a pompous prick," Sherlock said.

"Well, she was right."

"What?"

"Nothing! Nothing.."

"She said in future, she'll do her French homework rather than flatter pompous pricks like me."

"Good on her. She deserves far better than you, Sherlock."

(This was the first of many times John was going to say that.)

"John?"

"Mm?"

"D'you think we'll see her again?"

John laughed. "If I was her, Sherlock, I'd never want to see you again..."

(Sherlock pretended to be pleased with this news. After all, he had his reputation as a high functioning sociopath to uphold.)

(It was a few weeks later when he saw Molly again on the train, resting her head on the shoulder of some other boy, and though he was loathe to admit it, he didn't like the sight very much at all.)

* * *

_The French might be terribly wrong... unlike Molly, I do not like French, so I decided to enlist the help of my good friend Google Translate who is somewhat notorious for being inaccurate!_

_Leave a review? :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi everyone, here's Chapter 2! I am sosososososo sorry for the wait. English essays, while more boring, are sadly more important... :( _

_I love all your reviews, they make me happy :)_

_Disclaimer: the characters do not belong to me... _

* * *

**Part II**

"What," Sherlock muttered, the frustration evident in his voice, "is _that?_"

"That's a boy," John noted calmly.

"Well of course I know it's a boy," Sherlock huffed. "A boy who looks exactly like me."

"You can't blame her, Sherlock."

"What do you mean?"

"You turned her away. It's only natural for her to find someone else, someone who looks like you. It'd be like having you as a boyfriend, but someone friendly. Someone human."

"But he's an idiot!"

"He's not a genius."

"He's not like _me._"

"I think that's the point." John looked up at him, incredulous. "Sherlock. You're not.. I mean, you can't be.. Do you have...?"

"Feelings?" he spat, repulsed. "Of course not. Why would I have feelings? For her?"

"Well, you do seem quite interested in her new found relationship."

"I'm just curious. And besides, I need to know things. Keeps me entertained."

John cleared his throat. "Right."

(It wasn't curiosity that Sherlock felt eating away at him - as emotionally unintelligent as he was, he knew that feeling very well. What he currently felt was something he found reminiscent of some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder. Molly was with the wrong person, and it nagged away at his mind. He never used to care about things being neat and proper, but all of a sudden it seemed to _matter.__)_

(He didn't like things that _mattered_.)

"Look, John. They're hugging," Sherlock said with disgust.

* * *

"Soooo," Molly said. "D'you know what happened yesterday?"

Tom didn't reply. He was texting.

(He often did that. Molly hated to admit it, but she couldn't help thinking that Tom might be kind of... unintelligent.)

She decided to continue, despite his clear disinterest. "I got to dissect a frog. Did you know that frogs have a three chambered heart? It has two atria, but only one ventricle. And its blood vessels are specifically -"

"Molly... that's disgusting."

"No, it's fascinating," she said with a smile. Why couldn't he understand why she liked Biology? It wasn't disgusting. It was nature. It was anatomy.

"You should be more like other girls. You should like art or dancing or singing or whatever. You should be normal."

"I'm normal!"

(She wasn't, and she knew it.)

"Then for god's sake stop talking about frog corpses."

Molly nodded, defeated. This whole dating-someone-else-to-make-Sherlock-jealous was officially Failing with a capital F. She glanced behind her and then immediately averted her gaze when their eyes met.

"I won in football last week."

"Oh."

Molly could quite literally not think of anything else to talk about. She looked at Sherlock again. He raised an eyebrow at her, then gestured towards Tom, as if to say "Who's he?"

Talking - or rather, not talking, gesturing - with him all seemed so comfortable. Natural, like he was the one she was supposed to be with. Molly hadn't even realised that this was her second actual proper encounter with Sherlock Holmes. It was like they'd known each other for ages. She rolled her eyes and looked apologetic, meaning, "Sorry about him. He's a bit.. thick."

He sighed and looked at her questioningly ("Why on earth are you dating him, then?")

"I have no idea," she said with her eyes, shrugging.

"The hell are you doing?" Tom demanded.

He'd seen that? Oh dear. He hadn't been supposed to see that.

"N-nothing," she replied shakily. "Absolutely nothing. I was just... pondering the mysteries of.. life."

"What's pondering?"

Molly internally groaned. "You know, thinking. Wondering."

"You were wondering about the mysteries of life?"

"Yes. No. Oh, I don't know." Molly gave up trying to lie. She wasn't good at it; she never had been.

"Actually, she and I were communicating," came a voice from behind her. She spun round with a start.

"But - you wasn't -"

"No, we weren't talking, we were using and interpreting facial expressions."

It hit Molly like an anvil to the head. Sherlock wasn't interested in her, but now here he was arguing with her _boyfriend. _Because yes, Molly had a _boyfriend. _A stupid boyfriend who was only with her to show her off to his friends, and whom she was only with because.. well.. now she came to think about it, she had absolutely no idea why.

She didn't know what to say. A million sentences popped into her brain that she wasn't brave enough to speak out loud. "Sherlock, can we talk?" "Sorry, Tom, but this isn't really working for both of us." "Yes, Tom, Sherlock and I were having a very interesting conversation. Would you let us finish?"

But no. Molly wasn't courageous or bold or quick enough to say that. Instead she came out with, "Tom.. Um.. Yeah. This is Sherlock."

Tom looked at her strangely. "This your ex or something?"

"No. He's um.. He's.."

"Molly, I don't see how-"

"I'm a friend," Sherlock said confidently. "We met last year. Our parents know each other."

Tom scoffed. "You two seem overly friendly just to be _friends._"

"No, Tom, I swear it's n-not like that.."

"Aren't you happy, Molly? Aren't you happy with me?"

Molly swallowed. She should be happy. Any other human being would have been happy. If a bit dim, Tom was quite good looking, and treated her all right. Moreover, having a boyfriend made her blend in more with her classmates, seeing as at his school Tom was one of the popular crowd. Though they had nothing in common except a mutual attraction to each other, and their dates tended to consist of a few boring conversations strung together by awkward silences.

No, Molly was happy. Tom was nice looking and liked her. She was most content, she was very very happy indeed.

(She wasn't, and she knew it.)

"Yes, Tom. I'm happy."

(Behind her back, her fingers were crossed. Sherlock noticed this, and she knew he had.)

"Doesn't look like it to me." The train pulled into the station and Tom strode off the train without so much as a goodbye, or even a confirmation that they were over.

"Well, at least he's gone," she heard Sherlock mutter. John smacked his arm in disapproval.

"Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed indignantly, gaping like a gutted fish.

"Oh. Yes. You just broke up, you must be upset. Sorry."

"No, I'm all right. He was.. he was stupid."

Sherlock laughed. "Yes. He was. Very much so," he said, earning another swipe from John.

"Is that a violin?" she asked timidly, nodding to the black case Sherlock was carrying. He seemed like a musical type, which pleased Molly. It could be an excuse for them to meet up more. They could practise together, or she could accompany him or something... The thought of Sherlock's handsome face, deep in concentration, looking down at the strings made her almost shiver.

"That? Oh. Yes, it is."

"What grade are you?"

"Eight." He puffed out his chest like a peacock, visibly proud._ Pompous prick, _chided the cynical side of Molly's head.

"Whoa. That's pretty good."

"Mm."

She paused, unsure whether to continue the conversation. "I play flute and piano... In case you were interested.."

"Where did you get the idea that I was interested?"

Molly's heart sank. John glared at his friend, before turning back to Molly. "He's particularly grumpy today, I think."

"I am not!" Sherlock said, disgruntled.

"Don't worry, John, it's fine," she said unconvincingly, her voice slightly wobbling.

"No, really. You don't have to pretend that it's fine. He just single handedly broke up your relationship."

"I'm quite grateful for that, actually."

John chuckled. "Well, at least he's done one good thing today. We have to go, or we'll be late for school. Bye, Molly, see you around!"

"Bye, Sherlock! Bye, John!"

Molly exited the station and began the long uphill walk to Ashmere Girls'. She wasn't going to lie to herself; she was relieved that she and Tom were no longer a couple. But she couldn't persuade herself that Sherlock would ever like her romantically. As far as she knew, he didn't do relationships, and she was all right with that. She'd probably get tired of him; or maybe he too was squeamish; or maybe he was less charismatic than she had led herself to believe. Sherlock and her were never going to end up dating. And she was just fine with that.

(She wasn't, and she knew it.)


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi everyone!_

_Ugh, I know this update is way way overdue.. :(_

_Still, I hope this makes up for it and that you enjoy the chapter. Please review :)_

* * *

**Part III**

Two months later and Molly Hooper was moving schools. And more importantly, she was moving to Redbrook Grammar, _the school Sherlock Holmes went to._

(She did know that this was _the school Sherlock Holmes went to, _and that fact may have slightly influenced which new school she picked, but to be fair to herself, she'd been wanting to leave Ashmere for ages. Ever since she left Tom, a weird rumour had started that she was morbid (true) and that she liked slicing up dead things (true) and that she was hiding corpses in her attic and ate a frog heart before breakfast every morning (false). This had given her a rather unusual new nickname.)

('The Amphibian Slaughterer'.)

Molly hadn't spoken much to Sherlock since the day of the breakup. She'd wanted to, of course, but she'd been too nervous and he'd been - well - himself. However, she always made sure she was sitting somewhere close to him, where he couldn't see her but she could gaze dreamily all she liked. Her little imagined dates with him had escalated so far that she had their whole life planned out together - marriage and two children, Alexander and Grace. They'd both become pioneering biologists and have a nice house in the suburbs with a nice garden and -

And here she was, outside the form of her new class (which, sadly, did not include Sherlock Holmes - she had personally checked the register) and afraid to knock on the door.

_Buck up, Molly. You wimp._

She knocked quietly on the door three times, and was greeted by a woman around her forties donning a short, peroxide blonde bob and very round glasses. "Hello! I'm your new form tutor, Ms. Meyer. You must be Molly-Ann Hooper?"

"Y-yes. Sorry I'm late," she stammered, not used to hearing her full name spoken aloud. "No matter. Right then, you'll be sitting there, next to Irene." Ms Meyer motioned towards a rather scary-looking girl wearing heaps of make-up and her skirt hitched so high up, it barely covered her thighs.

Molly made her way over to her desk and sat down tentatively. "No need to be scared," Irene almost purred. "It's all right, I get that reaction from most people."

"Oh," Molly managed.

"My, you're sweet." She stroked a lock of Molly's hair back from her face. Her hands were icy cold and Molly almost shivered, recoiling slightly. Irene looked over her shoulder at the boy on the desk behind them, who was laughing quietly, presumably at Molly.

"Molly, this is James. James, Molly. Molly, James. James is a certified genius, you know." James' uniform was perfectly ironed and almost looked like some expensive suit rather than a blazer and striped tie.

"It's Jim," the boy said irritably. "Nice to meet you, Molly." She noticed a touch of Irish in his voice, and for some reason everything he said seemed sarcastic, although she was sure it wasn't. "Don't you get the same train as me and Irene?"

"Oh. I don't know, I've never seen you." _Probably, _said the voice in Molly's head, _because you were too busy drooling over Sherlock to notice. _

"I've seen you," Irene said. "You should come over and talk to us." Molly wonderered if Jim and Irene were dating, although Irene was doing what might constitute as _flirting_ with her.

"Jim, am I in your Biology and Chemisty classes?" Molly showed him her timetable, comparing it with his.

"You're in with the Year 11s, like me," he said, mildly surprised. "You like Science?"

"Um. Yeah, especially Biology. You?"

"I'm second best in the class," he said, sounding not proud but disappointed in himself. Everyone here was so different to her last school. At Ashmere, there was always girly gossip and people chatting about stupid things like clothes or the latest perfume. If you were good at something or really liked a subject, you were immediately classed as 'nerdy', which to most of the girls was a bad thing. Most of the girls except Molly. Whereas here, she didn't think she was going to make very many friends, yet here she was talking about her favourite subjects to the beautiful, made-up Irene and the strange, insanely clever Jim.

"That's pretty good.. Who's first?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "You haven't heard of Sherlock Holmes already?"

Sherlock was in her science class! "Heard of him?" she asked, curious. "Why would I have -"

"Oh, _everyone's_ heard of Sherlock," Irene butted in. "He's even cleverer than James, he has an IQ of -"

"_Thank you_, Irene," said Jim. "He's really antisocial though. Bit of a recluse," he said scornfully. "The only person he actually talks to is that John who trails after him the whole time."

"I'm sure he's not that bad," Molly said, smiling. "Maybe he just doesn't like talking?"

"He's not shy. Just strange. Doesn't really care about anyone except John." Jim smirked. "Maybe they're..."

"Oh!" Irene laughed. "Well, the thought had crossed my mind too, you know how attached they are to each other."

Wait.. Oh. Molly knew exactly what Jim and Irene meant: Sherlock and John could be together. She hadn't considered that before, she'd been too wrapped up in her little imaginary scenarios to think about if he could be seeing anyone else.

"They could be just good friends," Molly tried. Jim and Irene laughed.

"So you do know Sherlock," said Irene, chuckling to herself.

"How did you know?"

"Oh please, it wouldn't take a genius to realise you have a crush on him," said Jim.

"Well..." Her face flushed pink. "He gets the train too, him and John, and I kind of... Noticed him."

"That is so sweet," Irene said. "Although I see what you mean... If you like that kind of thing.."

"Trust me, though, you won't get anywhere with him. He'll just brush you off with some rude remark and act like you don't exist."

"He already has," Molly admitted.

"You're much better off sticking with us," Irene said. "Welcome to Redbrook, Molly!"

Molly smiled to herself, proud about finding herself two friends so early on. Maybe this school would be OK.

But from the corner of her eye she swore she could see a dark, curly haired head pass the window and look straight at her.


End file.
